


I like my sugar with coffee and cream

by imminentinertia



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Enemies to Lovers, Evakteket Challenge, M/M, strictly speaking it's mildly-annoyeds to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 22:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12068070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/pseuds/imminentinertia
Summary: 5 times Even buys a coffee +1 time Isak buys a shirt.





	I like my sugar with coffee and cream

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Evakteket Challenge](https://evakteket.tumblr.com/post/164750318332).  
> My prompt: enemies to lovers, coffee shop, 5 + 1. This is about as enemy-like I can make Isak and Even be, I’m afraid.

1

Get out of bed. Shower. Shave. Dress. Have breakfast while pretending to read the news but in reality daydreaming drowsily. Put on shoes, leave the flat. Get on the tram. Spend eight hours being harassed by more or less rude shoppers buying suspiciously cheap mass-produced clothes. Tidy the items of clothing the shoppers paw at, maybe try on and then fling around in complete disregard of shelves, hangers and order. Clean up the piss in the fitting room. Hand the sticky, bawling child back to his parents. Keep an eye on the too-giggly, too-nervous teenage girls clearly aiming to sneak scratchy polyester knickers into their bags.

Every Saturday, this is Even’s life.

The only comfort, in between the hopefully not too stale breakfast and getting out of the hellhole where he works Saturdays to make a bit of extra money, is getting a lovely coffee on his way downtown. He adores one of the coffee shops near his tram stop, and while he usually makes his own coffee before going to school, getting a cortado lovingly made by a professional barista is his Saturday Treat. God knows he needs a treat before facing the throng at the clothes shop.

There’s a pretty new barista working, Even notes happily when entering the coffee shop. He has soft blond curls and broad shoulders and a nice sharp jawline, he’s quite the sight for sore eyes. There isn’t a queue, even, so this morning is treating Even well.

“Hi, a cortado to go, please”, he says, and turns on the charm a bit for the pretty barista, just in case, giving him a wide smile.

He’s just a little bit disappointed when the guy just gives him a curt _hi_ and a nod back. _Come on, Pretty Barista,_ Even thinks, he’s being the perfect customer here, his order is clear and to the point and he said please, he had his debit card ready, and he _beamed_. What’s not to like for a coffee shop employee who surely gets his unfair share of shitty customers?

He waits patiently, a little lost in his own thoughts about that jawline, and then the barista puts his paper cup down on the counter and goes to clean the milk jug. He doesn’t say bye. A bit miffed, Even leaves with an overly chipper “thank you, bye”, just to teach that barista some manners.

On his way to the tram, he takes the first sip, and fuck. The barista has just slopped a hell of a lot of milk into the espresso, more than you should in a cortado. If Even had wanted a fucking latte he would’ve ordered one, but he didn’t, because he wants equal parts espresso and milk, not his lovely double shot of espresso drowned in milkiness. It’s drinkable, but it’s not _right_ . Even wants right. He needs right. It’s Saturday morning and he’s on his way to his horrible job and he _deserves_ right.

When he arrives at the shop, forty-five minutes before it opens, a wild-eyed woman is already there and ready to yell at him for the shop not being open when she, obviously the most valued of customers, wants it to be.

  
2

It’s seriously not a bad job. Isak gets all the free coffee he wants, and it’s very good coffee, even though he’s not a coffee nerd like his boss he can appreciate particularly good beans. His boss does go on and on and on about coffee, which is a little bit boring, she spent ages training him before letting him near making anything for an actual customer, and apparently her dream is to become a World Barista Champion, but she’s nice. The customers are mostly nice. The pay isn’t too bad. He could definitely do worse for a Saturday job.

And hey, there’s the tall, otherworldly beautiful guy who was in last Saturday. Isak tries to remember what he got then, but he can’t and gives up. That gorgeous smile and those gorgeous lips pretty much paralysed Isak’s brain, unfortunately. Besides, what if this customer orders different things every time? It won’t look smooth at all if Isak whips up an espresso macchiato if he wants a mocha today.

The stunningly attractive customer doesn’t radiate joy today, though. He orders a cortado to go, with a _please_ and everything, but he’s not smiling. Maybe he has a bad day, Isak reflects while steaming the milk. Maybe Isak's fabulous coffee will save his day and make him worship at Isak's feet. At Isak's thighs.

No, that's not a good way for his mind to wander now. Even if his long black apron would hide anything not proper to sport at work.

Just as he’s about to pour the milk into the paper cup, Pretty Boy speaks up, in a quite curt tone.

“Hey, can you let me watch while you pour, so I can tell you to stop when it’s enough?”

What the fuck.

“Sure,” Isak says as pleasantly as he can, and he carries the paper cup and the jug over to the part of the counter where the customers pick up their drinks. What’s up with this?

Pretty Boy suddenly bends over the counter like a vulture, eyes on the cup, causing Isak to twitch a little and accidentally tip the mug more than he means to. A little bit more milk splashes into the coffee. That’s not a perfect fifty/fifty anymore, as his boss taught him, but it’s not a disaster. Just a dash more than intended.

“Shit,” Pretty Boy says with an audible exhale.

“Sorry,” Isak says, a little startled.

“The thing is,” Pretty But Apparently Not Happy Boy says stiffly, “a week ago you gave me a _lot_ more milk in my cortado than there’s supposed to be, it was practically a latte, and this time I hoped it would be better. Now you’ve put too much milk in it again.”

What. The. Fuck.

One, Isak may have put a little more milk in a cortado than strictly necessary, but he can’t have been _that_ much off, his boss certainly made him make enough of them to make him know what he’s doing, even on his first day of proper Saturday work without his boss around. Two, don’t swear at your barista. Three, don’t speak to him like you're his disappointed parent.

Practically a latte, not fucking likely. Fucking wannabe hipster coffee snob, his greatest sorrow in life is probably that he looks like he’s incapable of growing a full beard to go with his plaid shirt and swoopy hair and fucking cortado. It’s strange that he isn’t whining about cold brew or demanding a pour over, it would be more in character.

“Sorry,” he says again, feeling anything but. “I’ll make you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” Pretty Asshole says, grabbing his pedestrian not-hipster-enough cortado, “this will be _fine_.”

Isak has heard that kind of ‘fine’ before. It means ‘this is the worst that could have happened and it’s your fault, but I’m going to pretend that it’s okay, only I’ll pretend so badly you’ll be even more certain to understand that it’s anything but fine’. He grits his teeth.

“Sorry again, bye then,” he says to the customer’s back as he flounces out the door.

Isak spends the rest of his shift fuming and thinking up a dozen perfect retorts.

 

3

Another Saturday, another round of Pretty But Cranky And Not That Good Barista, probably. With a small sigh, Even pushes open the coffee shop door and sticks his head in first. He spots the blond curls by the coffee machine immediately, making something for the only customer waiting, but he wants his coffee, with or without too much milk, so in he goes anyway.

Okay, his cortado last week wasn’t undrinkable. It was almost fine, really. He may have been a little harsh then, perhaps? Not anywhere near as harsh as the assholes he has to deal with at work himself, though.

The woman waiting gets her drink and Even clears his throat.

“Hi, one cortado to go, please.”

Pretty Barista looks up and stiffens. Then he fires off a _hi_ and an _okay_ , quickly rings up the order and hurries off to grind the beans. Even sidles over to the pick up part of the counter, deciding against demanding to watch the pouring of the milk. They do that unbidden in some coffee shops, he reflects a little wistfully. It’s obvious that Pretty Barista remembers Even correcting him last week, though, and he’s probably sorry for messing up and hopefully eager to get it right this time, so Even will let him do his work in peace.

However, the pretty barista shoots him a darkish look, then brings the cup and the jug over and very carefully pours the milk before Even’s eyes until Even says “that’s enough, thank you”.

Well, that’s nice. A perfect amount of milk, and no stern words spoken. Even decides to turn the charm on again, just in case the honestly really pretty barista might be open to that and maybe also stop looking so glum, and starts to beam at him.

“You’re aware that paper cups and plastic lids are terribly bad for the environment, right? Maybe you’d like to get one of our reusable cups? They keep the heat well and the lid comes with a handy plug so you won’t spill any coffee.” The pretty barista practically chirps, but he’s looking daggers at Even and his paper cup.

What the hell is this, is he judging Even for using one - _one_ \- paper cup a week and not lugging around a special reusable coffee cup? Fucking environmentally over-friendly asshole, with his barista job and artfully messy hair and ironic retro t-shirt, who’s probably all about local food but conveniently ignores that his precious extra special light roast coffee beans are shipped across half the planet on massive tankers chugging down fossil fuel.

“Surely you don’t want to _harm the environment_ more than you absolutely _have to_ ,” the barista says, glaring at the paper cup, his otherwise very attractive mouth a rather too tight line.

Who is he to get on his high horse, handing out hundreds of paper cups every day as part of his job. He probably gets a bonus if he sells enough of the damn reusable cups, too, the little shit.

Just as Even opens his mouth to tell Pretty Green Party Asshole Barista that no, he doesn’t want a grotesque bright cyan and orange cup with a gold coffee shop logo on it, the barista looks up at him, and oh.

He really has remarkably beautiful eyes.

And his lips curve in a so very pretty cupid’s bow.

Also, jawline.

Even seethes all the way to work, sipping his now perfect cortado from his brand new cyan and orange reusable coffee cup.

  
4

It’s terribly windy and it’s raining buckets, so Isak is feeling quite smug about being warm and dry and having access to all the delicious coffee he wants, while all his morning customers struggle with their umbrellas and drip miserably on the floor while waiting for their drinks.

Here comes one practically running through the door, without an umbrella or a raincoat, and well well well, if it isn’t The Cortado Asshole. In only a jean jacket, poor fucker.

Isak feels a very little bit guilty about nagging the pretty cortado guy into buying one of the shop’s admittedly hideous reusable cups, but he was so annoyed because of that fucking milk thing and it felt like just a little bit of revenge. Let the super tall, super hot, super annoying guy carry that thing around, to clash with everything.

Isak can’t help but feel a little sorry for him today, with his stylish quiff having turned into a soggy mess, strands plastered to his forehead and trickling water into his eyes, so Isak puts on a smile and says “one cortado to go, right?”. To be perfectly honest, he can't not smile. The drowned cat look isn't a good one, but it's just the tiniest bit endearing, and Isak could swear the guy is brightening up some under the ruined hair.

“Yes, please,” Annoying But Pretty Cortado Guy says, holding out his quite wet reusable cup. Will you look at that, he uses it. Maybe he comes in every morning and used it all week. Isak will have to ask his boss, if he can see a way to slip it inconspicuously into a conversation. Nobody buys the ghastly reusable cups, so perhaps it’s remarkable enough that Isak managed to sell one. He had to wipe the dust off the one this guy bought.

Isak brings the mug over to let the guy do his vulture-like watching thing again, even though it’s irritating as fuck. Still, the guy hovers significantly less menacingly than the last few times, he’s looking at what Isak does in a reasonably normal way instead of glaring at what Isak’s doing and he drips only a little on Isak’s clean counter.

He even smiles as he takes his environmentally friendly but unsightly cup and braves the rainstorm again.

Isak does _not_ spend the entire rest of the day thinking about the droplet of rain water on Hot Cortado Guy’s lower lip or the way his big blue eyes almost disappear when he's smiling. His mind only veers that way a scant handful of times per hour.

  
5

Even debates with himself for several minutes before leaving the flat, but in the end he does bring the eye-searing reusable cup, like he did last Saturday. He tells himself that it just makes his day easier to get through, not starting it with a pretty barista side-eyeing him for his wasteful littering ways, and then he admits to himself that he wouldn’t mind if his day starts with a pretty barista approving his actions and maybe giving him a smile or two again.

There’s a moment of mild panic just before he turns the corner and realises that a) the pretty barista may not be working and b) the pretty barista may fuck up his cortado again, not to mention that c) the words “pretty barista” honestly take up far too much of his internal monologues these days.

Broad shoulders and sharp jawline and beautiful eyes and all, he is indeed at work. There are a couple of people waiting for their drinks, so Even gets to admire his hands working the coffee machine and his smile when he hands over the cups, revealing absolutely adorable gaps between his teeth. He’s only ever given Even closed-mouth smiles, and that feels awfully unfair.

When it’s Even’s turn, the barista does smile - not widely enough - and asks if he wants a cortado to go, and when he takes the cup from Even’s hand their fingertips brush.

Even really shouldn’t almost gasp at that tiny touch, but his breath does hitch just the tiniest bit, like he’s a blushing maiden in those dreadful novels his grandma keeps a stack of in the family cabin. His heart shouldn't race when the barista’s eyes meet his either, this is just not on.

Neither should he almost-gasp a second time, when the barista hands him his filled cup back and their fingers brush again. That he is then given a smile wide enough to show those teeth doesn't help at all.

Even discovers that he’s starting to lean in over the counter, homing in on beautifully shaped lips and gappy teeth, and pulls back abruptly. Shit shit _shit,_ what the hell did he just almost do. You can't go kissing strangers. Getting banned from the coffee shop and probably reported for sexual harassment of employees is just the start, he would never be able to go near the coffee shop again. He'd have to move out from his parents’ flat and never come to the neighbourhood to visit them. He'd never see Pretty And Quite Likely Straight Barista Who Anyway Probably Dislikes Even Immensely again. He'd ruin everything. He’d have to _emigrate_.

Pretty Barista has stopped smiling and is frowning just a little. “Something wrong?”, he asks, and oh dear God, he’s probably expecting Even to chew him out again when the only person Even is mad at right now is himself. Even finds himself babbling as he backs away. “No, nothing wrong, nothing at all, I’ll just be off then, have a great day, bye,” and Even turns and flees.

He spends his tram ride resignedly wondering how his life turned cliché enough to make him nearly throw himself over a counter to kiss a cute guy in an apron.

 

+1

It’s a good day. Nobody in the coffee shop acted like assholes, not even Hot Cortado Guy who was unfortunate enough to arrive on the tails of a large group of chattering customers ordering lattes. And to be fair, that guy has been okay the last couple of weeks. More than okay, really, although he weirdly looked almost scared last Saturday, nearly dropping his cup when Isak handed it to him. Maybe he picked up on Isak getting a little too lost in how stunningly attractive he is, on Isak smiling too widely and possibly creepily at him, on Isak for fuck’s sake developing a crush on his probably very straight customer.

Anyway, Isak hopes the guy didn’t end up being late for work, or whatever it is he does that brings him to the coffee shop a little before nine every Saturday. Hopefully he’ll keep finding time to get his Saturday cortado, looking gorgeous and maybe having time to chat a little sometimes. Preferably without being assholeish again. Fingers crossed, without Isak giving in to his primal instincts and throwing himself over the counter to kiss poor unsuspecting Hot Cortado Guy.

Shoving that mess back to the deep dark recesses of his mind where unprofessional thoughts ought to stay, Isak hops on the tram downtown. He’s been terribly busy with school work lately, but now he’s off work and has no pressing homework, and while he has to go shopping for some clothes and that’s hardly his favourite pastime, he can go get it over with and then the rest of the weekend is gloriously free.

He’s in desperate need of a new pair of jeans, his favourite ones are so worn they’re getting indecent. Maybe he should get two pairs. Some new boxers. Maybe a t-shirt or two as well, and a new scarf. And what a satisfying feeling it is to be able to pay for what he needs, not having to beg his dad for extra money for everything he needs.

Of course, just about everybody in the world had the same bright idea of going shopping on a nice Saturday afternoon, but not even the hordes in the shop he picked can kill Isak’s good mood. Still, he manages to navigate successfully through the crowd of irate shoppers, picking up some skinny jeans and a very nice dark green collarless shirt along the way, and doesn’t have to wait all that long for his turn in a fitting room.

Said fitting room is absurdly cramped and he can’t see if the jeans and shirt fit him okay, so he pulls the curtain aside and steps outside, finally seeing most of himself in the mirror. _Not bad_ , he thinks, turning around to see how it looks from the back.

And turns pretty much right into Hot Cortado Guy.

He’s wearing a shop name tag. He’s holding a bundle of clothes. He’s every bit as beautiful as he was this morning, as he is every Saturday morning. He’s looking at Isak, full lips slightly apart, big blue eyes wide. Actually, he’s _staring_ at Isak.

Isak realises he’s staring back, and covers his embarrassment with a cough into his hand.

“Hi,” Hot Cortado/Clothes Shop Employee Guy says.

“Hi,” Isak says.

“That shirt looks really good on you,” the guy says, his eyes sweeping down Isak’s body and up again. “The jeans, too. ”

He probably says stuff like that to every shopper, but Isak thanks him nonetheless, praying to whatever deity that will listen that his cheeks will behave and not go warm. Warmer than they already are, that is. The guy, whose name tag says ‘Even’ so Isak can probably stop thinking of him as Hot Cortado Guy, stares some more. This silence is going beyond what a little fake cough can salvage, but Isak has lost his capability to use language.

Even Who Drinks Cortados And Sometimes Is A Bit Of An Asshole is just so fucking beautiful.

A frazzled-looking guy dragging a small child and several small coats pushes past Even, jostling him and nearly pushing him into Isak, and they both step away from him, ending up inside the tiny fitting room. Isak finds himself with the bundle of clothes and the back of Even's warm hand on his chest. Right on top of where his heart is now speeding up.

Isak opens his mouth, but language still eludes him, and Even The Gorgeous Cortado Guy is so close, so actually touching Isak, so still looking into Isak’s eyes, and it's funny how the lack of a counter between them makes Isak feel so _naked_.

The tip of Even’s tongue darts out between his lips and his eyes shift down a little. Through the roaring sound rising in his ears, Isak can hear a shrill voice complaining about having to wait for a fitting room, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Even’s face, and pushing Even out, closing the curtain and getting back into his clothes is unthinkable.

Then Even leans in and presses his lips to Isak's.

His mouth is moving against Isak’s, the tip of his tongue is touching Isak’s bottom lip, his free hand is touching Isak’s arm. There’s a mound of wrinkled clothing between them but Isak reaches around it to grab hold of what he can of Even, which ends up being his elbows. There’s suddenly skin under Isak’s hands. Even’s wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt and there’s actual, warm, slightly rough elbow _skin_.

Someone outside the fitting room clears their throat loudly and meaningfully.

That’s right. They’re in public. They’re in a cramped fitting room in a busy shop and they have to let each other go. Even looks a little dazed, eyes a little out of focus, lips all shiny but he’s smiling. Isak’s smiling, too, his face feels about to split with how wide his smile is. He needs to see Even again as soon as possible. He needs to kiss him and talk to him, tell him all his dreams and secrets and hopefully hear about some of his, in a place where people aren’t making pointed remarks about the snarl in the fitting room traffic.

“So, uh. Maybe we could meet when you’re off work?” Isak says, and immediately winces, because granted, Even just kissed him and smiled at him but if he laughs at Isak now or scoffs at him or just says no, don’t think so, Isak will have to quit his job and never go near that neighbourhood again. Fuck it, he’ll have to _flee the country_.

Even’s eyes disappear completely in his grin.

“Meet me outside, half six?”, Even says. Isak can only nod, seeing as formulating sentences evidently isn’t his forte this afternoon, and Even backs out of the fitting room, hefting his pile of clothes. “So, that colour looks really good on you, just let me know if you need anything else!”, he trills in a louder, salesman-like voice, pulling the curtain closed, scattering apologies as he leaves.

Isak stands staring at the slightly swinging, slightly dirty curtain, feeling a ridiculous little giggle rising to the surface. Even, formerly known as Hot Cortado Guy, _kissed him_ . They _kissed each other_ . They’re going to _hang out_.

Maybe he should take Even for beer instead of cortados, though.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Big thank you to my beta [shakespeareandsunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespeareandsunshine/pseuds/shakespeareandsunshine)! May you always get great coffee, bb.
> 
> [kittpurrson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittpurrson/pseuds/kittpurrson)/[towonderland72](http://towonderland72.tumblr.com/) and I run [Evakteket](https://evakteket.tumblr.com/) together, so a shout-out to Kit for being wonderfully easy to work with, even when we disagree. You know why I didn’t gift this fic to you ;)
> 
> This fictional coffee shop is placed in [Kaffegutta](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kaffegutta-As/117356671667129)’s location, but Kaffegutta isn’t to blame for bad [KeepCup](http://www.keepcup.com/about-us) colour choices... 
> 
> Title is from [Intergalactic](https://open.spotify.com/track/5fpizYGbi5IQoEraj6FP0R) by Beastie Boys. 
> 
> I’m [skamskada](https://skamskada.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr if you want to say hi or yell at me or talk about coffee in Norway.


End file.
